Miracles and Massacres by Glenn Beck Read Free Book Online Page B

his arms from their sockets and its searing flash blinded him instantly.
    The sound of Chaloner’s screams echoed along with the distant rumble from the cannon. The air was thick with gunpowder, and the snow where the ill-fated group of now-dead rebels once stood was red with blood.
    Militiamen watched as the Regulators retreated. After they had fallen back to a safe distance, the militiamen inched down to where the army had stood facing them just a few short minutes earlier. They retrieved the mortally wounded John Hunter and what was left of Root, Webster, and Spicer, and moved them to a nearby stable, where the bodies quickly froze solid.
    About an hour later, a party of Regulators advanced again, but this time under a white flag.
    â€œSir, we respectfully request that we may remove the bodies of our five comrades for decent Christian burial.”
    â€œFive?” snorted Shepard. “I’m afraid I’ve only four, but if you care to repeat your march on the arsenal, I’ll be only too glad to accommodate you with a fifth!”
    They were not about to take him up on that. The thought of fighting their friends and neighbors was one thing; watching them actually die was another thing entirely.
    The battle was over.
    Regulator Encampment
    Chicopee, Massachusetts
    January 26, 1787
    Daniel Shays’ men had run from the armory grounds and they kept on running hard for five miles until finally reaching Japhet Chapin’s Tavern at Cabotville to Springfield’s east. At daybreak they fled farther—to Chicopee—where they rejoined Eli Parsons’ Berkshire County men. Along the way, two hundred Regulators had deserted the cause.
    A roaring fire had once threatened to engulf the entire commonwealth, and, with it, perhaps the entire Confederation.
    But now that fire seemed to be nothing but dying embers.
    Continental Arsenal
    Springfield, Massachusetts
    January 27, 1787
    â€œThey’re back!”
    A militia sentry watched a column of men steadily advancing toward him.
    Men sprang to their posts. If Shays and his mobbers were foolish enough to attempt another attack on Springfield’s arsenal, they would ensure that an even bloodier price was paid.
    â€œHold your fire!” came another shout. “It’s not Shays! It’s General Lincoln and reinforcements!” Glorious in their strength and number—three companies apiece of infantry and artillery, plus a company of cavalry—Lincoln marched them steadily along.
    A great cheer went up, but General Shepard cut them short. He mounted the steps of the arsenal’s wooden barracks and barked out: “Make your huzzahs short, men! Prepare your kits and your mounts. We leave within the hour—north bound, on the trail of the mobbers!”
    Connecticut Valley
    Western Massachusetts
    January 30, 1787
    General Benjamin Lincoln’s men crossed the Connecticut River, marching northward along its west bank. His cavalry, under Colonel Gideon Barr, advanced gingerly upon its ice-hardened surface. General Shepard’s militia trudged up the Connecticut’s eastern shore.
    Lincoln and Shepard moved fast, but the dispirited Regulator force moved faster, bolting out of Chicopee. Those who remained plundered several houses in South Hadley and looted two barrels of rum at Amherst. More men deserted along the way. It seemed now as though only a couple hundred remained. Shays himself retreated to his ramshackle Pelham homestead. Ensconced among his fellow hardscrabble Scotch-Irish neighbors, Shays bided his time. Unsure of his next move, and burdened with an “army” more inclined to shouting than shooting, his options had grown ever more limited.
    This was not at all what he had planned.
    Luke Day remained in West Springfield. He’d taken the precaution of posting a guard at the ferry house, but when Lincoln’s army approached, the guard, along with the bulk of his panic-stricken men, had fled, abandoning